


down the hall

by reversetheuniverse



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reversetheuniverse/pseuds/reversetheuniverse
Summary: She meets him one night while she’s holing herself up inside the lounge on their floor, trying desperately to escape the noise of the annoying freshmen echoing throughout the hall.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You thought you'd seen the last of me?
> 
> WELL, YOU _THOUGHT_.
> 
> Yeah, so as user CTBM pointed out, I had not done a GMW fic in a while. Part of that was due to overall writer's block, but most of it was really life getting in the way (and when I say life, I mean depression). I had no motivation to write at all except for little bits and pieces of things, but hardly anything, really. 
> 
> But I think I'm out of that, now! I mean, I'm probably not going to write tons and tons of GMW fics again, because I do have to put all my focus into school, but I'll try my best to get some one-shots out there, maybe even a chapter for my multi-chapter fics. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you guys that like my stuff and support me! I appreciate it :) <3
> 
> Quick blurb on the backstory of the fic:  
> -It's based on my experience as a transfer student  
> -I am on a hall with literally six other transfer students, the other twenty being freshmen  
> -No, I did not have fun cuddle times with a boy down the hall  
> -Literally the idea for this fic spawned at the beginning of the year and now it is 3/4 of the way through the year and the cute guy down the hall is no longer cute to me, doesn't live in the hall anymore, and is dating the roommate of my best friend  
> -I really did think said guy's name was different from his name tag because he had some uncommon Ukranian name (it was Dovydas) and I thought it was 'Douglas' and thought that for a good month or so until I went to a friend's party and he showed up there an another friend of mine informed me that his name was not Douglas  
> -Shattered my world right there
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the longass intro but thank you to all who read my stuff and enjoy!!!! :)

Riley’s a transfer student. She took a smart route (at least, that’s what everybody’s told her and that her student debt has _convinced_ her) by going to a community college for the first couple of years after graduating high school. She gets an Associate’s degree in art and then pops over to the university, deciding to live in the dorms for at least one year to get that good ol’ college experience she missed out on earlier.

But _man_ , is it crazy.

Her college doesn’t do a good job at splitting the transfers up from the freshmen in the dorms, so she and a few other unlucky souls get caught up in sharing a floor with a bunch of teens who are being released from their “oppressive overlords” (aka kind, _generous_ parents) for the first time.

These kids don’t seem to understand that they are officially on their own now, and that the outside trashcans behind the dorms exist for a reason. Riley talks shit about them with her roommate, Maya, whenever she gets the chance, but most of the time, much to Riley’s chagrin, Maya is off somewhere else to complete a plethora of art projects for her BA in Studio Art.

So Riley’s left by herself most weekends to deal with the onslaught of hyped-up still-teenagers that are bouncing off the wall and partying whenever they get a chance.

It’s not that bad, really, though; at least, not as bad as she makes it seem. Some of the other students are nice and respect the floor rules, and retain the manners their parents spent years teaching them. But when it does get unbearable, she escapes to the lounge before any of them can, claiming the room so that she can watch shows on Netflix to drown out the noise surrounding her. It serves to be a great plan, except until someone crashes in on her plans one night, taking over _her_ time in the lounge.

He's one of the few transfers on their floor, she remembers him mentioning he was a transfer, along with joining her and the other transfer in liberating themselves from the freshmen group they were forced into (they _aren’t_ freshmen!!!) He seemed like a nice guy, but obviously he doesn’t respect boundaries and _her_ lounge time.

“Um, excuse me,” she announces her presence, tapping him on the shoulder slightly with her index finger. The boy (she thinks his name is ‘Farrel’, at least, that’s what his door tag says) looks up briefly from the huge textbook in his lap to give her a once over, his eyebrow arching on his forehead.

“Yes?”

Riley can tell right away he’s the analytical kind, probably verging on nerd territory. Don’t get her wrong, she’s certainly one herself, too. It takes one to know one after all.

“I kind of use the space at this time of night . . .” she trails, trying her best to remain amicable.

She’s not one to get all irrational and angry right away, not over something as trivial as a nonexistent ‘claimed’ Riley-time in the lounge, but she feels as though she ought to fight for it a bit. It is her only real source of sanctuary, and she intends to keep it that way, especially because this time had been honored by the other rowdy kids on the floor up until now.

“Well, there’s plenty of room for the both of us. I don’t see why we can’t both sit in here,” he says with a shrug. “There’s a couple of armchairs and a table still open over there.”

 _Strike one_ —she doesn’t need some smug asshole pointing out things to her like she’s some sort of simpleton. Riley is _no man’s_ philistine.

“Okay, but I just want to be alone in here for a little bit. Would you mind moving out? I promise I’ll be gone in a couple of hours.” She’s not being ridiculous, she _promises_.

“I’m just going to be sitting in here reading my textbook. I don’t understand why we can’t _both_ just sit in here. It’s not like this couch has your name on it.”

Oh, _okay_. Definitely a strike two if he’s gonna sass her up.

“Really? Last time I checked it did, right on the tag on the side here,” Riley points to the arm of the couch where the tag is sticking out. The boy remains intrigued, settling his textbook to the side so he can check out if what she’s saying is true.

Oldest trick in the book.

While he investigates the tag, Riley takes the opportunity to steal his spot in the middle of the couch, moving his textbook to the floor and replacing the empty spot beside her with her laptop. The boy flashes his eyes back up, quickly becoming unamused at Riley’s usurpation of power.

“Uh _huh_. I see how it is. You know, I could easily go get our RA—” _Strike three._ Her eyes widen and she begins flailing her arms around.

“ _Please don’t!_ ”

“And tell her that you’re not sharing the lounge at all, which as I recall we all deemed this a “community space”, which translates roughly to “not just _yours_ ”,” he says, his arms crossed as he looks down at her impatiently. Riley remains still for a long moment, the two of them just staring the other down, but then—

“Ow!!! What the heck?!”

She throws a pillow at him.

Overall, not her smartest move, but she’s not about to let him win without a proper fight. Why not with pillows?

“En garde!” Riley exclaims, pointing another pillow at him.

“This is how you want to settle this?” he asks, incredulous. She nods.

“This is the only way to settle our dispute. Now _en garde_!” Riley slaps him on the arm with her pillow, disorienting him once again. He eyes her warily but picks up the other fallen pillow at his feet, steadying himself into a proper fighting stance.

“So whoever wins gets the room for the week—”

“ _Night_ ,” Riley corrects. The guy shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh. Definitely the week after all this toil you’ve put me through. I was just having a nice quiet evening until you started shrieking at me that this was your couch and then began accosting me with pillows. I deserve a week for this.”

“ _Fiiiiiine_ ,” Riley groans, acquiescing despite that not being a favorable outcome for her. Fair is fair, after all.

“Okay, then. Bring it.”

Riley does bring her best. She really does. But this guy is obviously skilled in the art of pillow warfare. He disarms her after three tries, and Riley gawks at her pillow lying in the enemy’s arms with disdain.

“How?” she asks, pointing at the stolen pillow. He shrugs.

“I’ll admit, it’s not the first time someone’s made me engage in this brand of war. I’ve got experience.”

“So you cheated,” Riley says blankly, her nostrils flaring a bit. He raises a brow at her.

“How can I cheat if you’re the one who challenged me to a duel in the first place?”

“Sounds like something a cheater would say,” she crosses her arms, her nose pointed to the air.

“Sounds like something a sore _loser_ would say,” he fires back, his sea-blue eyes trained on hers.

“I’m not a sore loser! You’re the stupid person who stole my spot in the lounge, _Farrel_ ,” she jests back, only to earn a blank stare from him, a complete 180° from how he was acting before.

“What did you just call me?” he asks.

“Farrel. That’s your name, isn’t it?” He places a palm upon his forehead, snorting.

“No, it’s _Farkle_.” Riley makes a _pft_ sound, her face curling in disbelief.

“Uh, _no_ , it’s definitely _Farrel_. I’ve passed by your door like, a billion times! The name tag clearly says ‘Farrel’.”

“I think I know my own name, Riley,” he tells her. “But here, let’s take a little fieldtrip to clear some things up.”

He grabs onto her wrist and pulls the door open to exit the lounge, veering left immediately after they leave the room. After passing a couple of doors down they stop in front of the worn, wooden door, his fingers releasing her wrist so that he can point at the tag on the door.

“See? Right here, in plain letters. It spells ‘Farkle’. F-A-R-K-L-E.”

“Well, it’s kind of a weird name. Can you blame me for thinking it was something else?” Riley asks. Farkle gives her a look of disdain, his lips thinning.

“And ‘Farrel’ was normal?” She shrugs.

“It was to me.” Riley gazes at him a moment only to catch the slow curl of his mouth, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. Eventually, he starts busting out laughing, his hand gripping his stomach from the fit he’s in, and after a few seconds later, Riley finds herself cackling beside him, his laughter infectious.

After it dies down a minute or so later, Riley can’t find it in herself to be mad at him anymore.

On the contrary, she quite likes his presence. Farkle seems to mirror the same sentiments, because he blurts out,

“Wanna watch Netflix with me?”

Riley blushes a little at the implications of it, but she doesn’t really seem to mind it too much. She likes Farkle a lot, and she’d really love to spend more time with him. Besides, as a transfer student, she hasn’t met a lot of people yet, and hanging out with Farkle would add to her ( _hopefully_ ) ever-growing friend list.

“Why not? I suppose the lounge is big enough for the two of us,” she smiles, nudging her shoulder into his playfully. Farkle smirks back, following alongside her as they walk back into the lounge, closing the door behind them so that they can share the comfort of the lounge together. Farkle plops down on the couch and Riley follows suit, waiting for him to open up his laptop so that they can start watching whatever their hearts desire.

Well, what _Riley’s_ heart desires, at least. He lets her pick what she wants to watch (after bickering about it for several minutes until he gives), and she decides on _The X-Files_. While he cues it up, Riley disappears from the room briefly to pop some popcorn, turning off the lights once she’s returned to the room so they can get the full theater effect.

And as the show starts, maybe they slide closer together. And, just maybe, Riley curls up against Farkle’s side for comfort.

What really ends up making the night is Farkle’s constant smartass commentary.

“See, that’s just not believable,” he says in the middle of their third episode, munching away at the handful of popcorn he’s grabbed. Riley smacks him on the arm lightly, pursing her lips.

“Just shut up and watch the show, Farkle,” she hisses at him. As she leans back against him, the corners of his mouth tug upward, his cheek pressing against the crown of her head.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says quietly.

Riley thinks this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

And who knows? Maybe he’ll be the Mulder to her Scully.

She wouldn’t mind that at all.

Not one bit.

And when it doesn't even bother her when the giddy screams of the freshmen on her floor echo throughout the hall, she knows she made the right choice.


End file.
